As We Are
by VoxMaille
Summary: We do not see things as they are, but as we are. ~Jewish Proverb. Now beta-read at the SugarQuill by Elanor Gamgee.


As We Are

By VoxM

A/N: It's been awhile since I've submitted anything, but I've been finishing this up and thought I'd send it in. 

Beta-read by Elanor Gamgee — who is truly a wonderful, wonderful beta-reader. I can't praise her enough. Thank you, Elanor. 

A series of alternate POV outtakes from "That Something Else Is More Important." I wrote that so fast that I couldn't put in all that I wanted to (or that needed to have been there). So I'm alleviating my guilt over it by writing these little character bits. There are a couple of OC's in here. And I got, well, sobby and girly in several parts. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Anyway, if you haven't read "Something Else," these won't make much sense. And like that story, these are rated PG-13. 

I _still_ own nothing. Bummer. 

*          *          *          *

Start And End 

*          *          *          *

Note: Alternate POV's beginning directly after TSEIMI, Chapter 2 ("Any Other Fragile Thing")

*          *          *          *

George let the infirmary door close behind his twin and himself. He kept his arm around Fred's shoulders, steering him back towards Gryffindor, as it didn't appear Fred would make it there independently. He went over the list of things he had to do as soon as possible.  

_Get Fred to Gryffindor._

_Owl Mum. _

_Check on Ginny. _

_Bother Pomfrey again when she's cleared people out._

_ Figure out a way to make Ginny sleep down in the common room tonight.  _

_All right. That should cover everything_. 

George swallowed. There were some things that you never honestly got used to, no matter how many times they happened. It wasn't until Ron had started at Hogwarts that he'd ever gotten the sick feeling that he might not see his impulsive, hot-tempered little brother grow up.   

"I think, sometimes, that he's going to be the one," Fred said quietly, reading George's mind as easily as ever. 

George pretended not to know what he was talking about. "The one who what?" He grinned half-heartedly. "Marries Hermione? _Big_ shocker there. Sometimes you do have a brilliant grasp of the obvious, Fred." 

"You know what I meant." For once in his life, Fred Weasley seemed incredibly serious and there was no indication that he was going to let his twin dodge the conversation. "There are _seven_ of us. Nine counting Mum and Dad. That's not good odds. And I don't blame _Harry_ for it, but Ron practically has a target on his ba — " 

"Look, _none_ of are going to be 'the one,' as you so disturbingly put it." George let out a breath, frustrated. There were some things that he didn't want said out loud, not even by his twin. "_You_ just have to get used to bailing Ickle Ronniekins out of things. We owl Mum, we keep things relatively organised on this end, we hang on for a bit and it will work out. It always does. All you have to do is be patient and not let yourself get all worked up. You _know_ that, Fred."

"Do I?" Fred shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Maybe nothing will happen to Ron — maybe none of us will be 'the one.' " He paused before saying what George had hoped he wouldn't. "Maybe someone already was."

"I don't ask those questions," George said softly, "because I don't know if it'd be better or worse to have the answer." He smiled wryly and looked back at his brother. "I think I like you better when you're being funny."  

Fred laughed, but it sounded forced.

*          *          *          *

Ginny sat on her bed, her knees pulled up against her chest. The drapes on her four-poster were closed around her and only a little light seeped in through the breaks in the curtains. Other girls were talking outside, but their voices were muffled, and after a few minutes they went away.

She couldn't get the image of her brother out of her head, very pale and very still. If she'd wanted, she thought that she could have counted all the freckles on his face as they stood out against his marble-white skin. 

_I hate this **so** much. _

She suddenly felt very, very small and young. Ginny had always been the tiniest Weasley, but she never really felt it unless something was horribly wrong. It sometimes seemed worst to be the youngest. Everyone else had something they could do now to help but her. 

_Please just wake up soon, Ron. Who's going to tell the twins to sod off if you're not around? I can't watch them all the time . . . _

She wiped at her eyes. Growing up in a house of brothers would toughen you up, but it seemed like it would be all right to cry now.

_You **always** think we take you for granted. You **wouldn't** if you could see us now. ___

A thought struck her.

_Is this what it felt like for **them** when **I** was in the Chamber?_

She shivered and hugged her knees closer. Nobody had heard the question she'd asked herself and so there was no reply. The silence almost seemed to be an answer in itself. 

The curtains around the bed rustled and she looked up. Something made a loud popping noise behind her. Horrible smelling smoke suddenly rolled everywhere in the enclosed space. Coughing and gagging, she jumped up and fled the girls' dormitory.

_A **DUNGBOMB**? Who the **HELL** would put a **DUNGBOMB** in my bed after all this?_

_ What kind of complete **SAVAGES** do I live with?_

As she walked down the stairs, she shook out her robe, trying to get the foul smell off of her. She sighed, pulled out her wand and charmed it with a Free-Breeze Deodorising Spell. 

 _I hope nobody's down here. I just want to be left alone._

Ginny flopped down on a sofa in the common room. The twins were playing chess in the corner. They actually seemed to be reasonably quiet for once. Nobody else was around. She sighed with relief. 

_As long as those two don't come over and bother me, I'll just wait that stupid Dungbomb out here._

She curled up in a tiny ball against one of the sofa's arms and closed her eyes. The arm held her up, and it was a bit comforting that way. The tension throughout her body had exhausted her and she yawned, even while she kept worrying. 

_I'm glad I'm not at home. I don't want to see the look on Mum's face when she gets George's letter. _

Someone put a blanket over her and it was just enough to nudge her into sleep, her brow still furrowed.  

*          *          *          *

The letter dropped into Mrs Weasley's lap at breakfast. She untied the parchment and began to read. Her face took on a very different appearance as she continued, turning paler and paler. Pigwidgeon perched himself very solemnly on one of the empty chairs around the kitchen table. 

"Oh, Arthur . . ." Mrs Weasley breathed.

"Molly?" Arthur Weasley peered at his wife questioningly. "Is something wrong?" Percy Weasley looked up from the toast he was trying to butter.

Instead of answering, she thrust the letter at him. He read over it.

"Good Lord," he said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a minute. "Right. How do you want to handle this, Molly? Do you want to go over to Hogwarts now, then? I'll meet you there later, when I get a chance."

His wife nodded, her face set. "I'll go by Floo. I can transfer through the Ministry." She pushed back her chair. "Oh, Arthur. He's all right, isn't he? He _must_ be." Mr Weasley got up, put his arms around her and gently brushed her hair away from her face.

"He'll be fine, Molly. You know he will."

"Arthur, I didn't even look at the clock. I should have seen it." She gestured at the hallway. "_Why_ wasn't I looking then? I haven't looked at it in _days_. And I should be, now of all times, with _him_ out there again."

Percy looked from one parent to the other. "What?" he said sharply. "What is it?" 

His father met his eyes. "Ron. He's been hurt. Rather seriously, it seems. It looks like he's going to be all right, though." Percy's face remained studiously blank, but he pressed his lips together tightly. Mr Weasley turned back to his wife.

"Bill's supposed to be at Gringotts today," he said "I'll call over and let him know, right after I get your transfer set up. I'm sure Albus will have everything ready for you to go on his end. Then I'll check in on the rest of the Ministry and I'll head over to Hogwarts. I'll see you soon."

There was a loud scraping sound as Percy pushed his chair back. "I've got to get to the office. Let me know how he's doing." He left the room and his footsteps echoed down the hall until they heard the soft _pffft_! of someone Apparating.

Mr Weasley's eyes were sad. "Sometimes, Molly, sometimes I don't understand him at all. Do you remember how much Percy used to try to take care of Ron when they were little? He was worse than you were. And now he barely reacts." 

Mrs Weasley looked at the door through which her son had left. "I don't know how true that is, dear. I really don't." 

Her husband shook his head. "I hope you're right." He stood up and kissed his wife on the cheek. "I'll get the clearance for that transfer now." With that, he Disapparated and Molly Weasley was alone in the kitchen. 

She walked down the hall, into the living room and took a handful of sparkling green powder as she lit a small fire in the hearth. There was a blinding light in one corner of the room, and she shaded her eyes with her wand hand. The sun was glaring off of the grandfather clock's face. Molly watched its nine hands for a minute.  

Ron's hand on the clock was ticking almost imperceptibly back from "Mortal Peril" towards "At School." She peered more closely at it, Floo powder in her hand.

"He'll be fine," she said aloud, and turned back to the fireplace. She tossed in the powder, stepped in and called out "Ministry Transfer Station — Security Area."

The magical flame disappeared after her and the Burrow was quiet. The ghoul, usually taking such an opportunity to cause some mischief in the rest of the house, stayed hidden in the attic and even left the pipes alone.

  
*          *          *          *

Bill swore through the wand he clenched in his teeth. "Son of a bloody — " Sweat was running down his face. Sometimes he really despised Egypt, and those times occurred mostly when he was trapped in a sweltering cave that hadn't been occupied in centuries trying to open archives carefully sealed with dangerous spells that nobody had used since before Hogwarts was founded. 

A loud voice came from behind him.

"Having trouble, Weasley?" He turned to see a woman with a pretty oval face and long dark blonde hair. She stood over him, apparently unable to hide the smile. "Rivka assign you a tomb that even you can't crack?"

"Ah, Rebecca. How are those etchings going?" 

She grimaced, and her grey eyes darkened a little.  "Frustrating, actually. I've never done ones like this before."

"Why don't we get more information on these trainings before we get sent out on teams, eh, fearless assistant leader?"  

"It's good for us. Makes us think better and faster." 

"Which is why we have to do it in a completely simulated environment, you know, heat, dust and everything. Yeah. Sure. That's what she tells you, anyway. Why learn to solve them in comfort first when you can leap right into the serious discomfort?" He grinned. "Merlin's wand, Rivka's quite the old bat, isn't she?" Bill waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"I love my mother very much." Her tone was reproachful, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.

"Of course you do, dear." He bent back over his work. To the outsider, it would have appeared that he was actually breaking a curse with all of his concentration, and putting so much into it that his shoulders were shaking, but the witch next to him seemed to know better and she hit him upside the ears. His head snapped up and now he was the one looking soulful and wounded.

"What? Why do you always do that, woman? Can't you leave a curse-breaker in peace to do his manly work?" He knew his grumbling couldn't cover the smile on his face.

"Oh, this is manly work, is it? Might I remind you whose old harpy of a mother practically invented the field? And whose daughter is rather noted herself?"

"I can't argue with that." Bill shrugged. "But that is why you, sweet Becky — " and at that he got an irritated look that he couldn't help but consider adorable " — are the one who works on the translation and defusing of enchanted etchings, writings and carvings, while it is my lot in life to simply, albeit carefully — and often ingeniously, I might add — blow things up. That truly is manly work."  

"Why am I marrying you again? Why did I say yes? You need to remind me so that I can tell myself at moments like these."

"Because I'm handsome, intelligent, witty, daring and I'm in love with the most exasperatingly quirky woman in the wizarding world. And in the century that spawned Sybil Trelawney, that's saying quite a lot."  

She laughed. "Bill Weasley. I can't imagine what the wedding will be like, what with all of you together at once. I can barely handle one or two of you at a time. I'll rupture something from laughing so hard." 

"You can room with Percy for a few days before the ceremony. Cure that problem instantly, I promise." 

They were quiet for a bit, and the sound of Rebecca's wand scraping against sandstone was the only thing that broke into the heat. Bill spread a neat layer of Ever-Shield Flexi-Glaze across the crack he was working on, leaving a bit of space for the Minoan charm he needed to slip in there. He had to hand it to the ancients — sometimes they were the only ones who knew what to do with the other ancients. This was not going to be a simple spell to undo. Ah, for the days when _Finite_ _Incantatum_ would do the job admirably.

The heat must have been a bit much for Rebecca, because she spoke up first. She usually did that when she wanted distraction from her surroundings, or, more often, when her surroundings were bothering her work and she wanted something else to focus on while she puzzled over some inscription. Bill rather liked that she considered him the most enjoyable thing in her environment.

"You know," she said, "my grandparents are absolutely ecstatic. They're thrilled that at least one member of the family got it into her head to marry a Weasley."

"Still mad about your mother breaking my poor father's heart fifth year, are they?"

"Wishful thinking on their part. I don't think they ever got over your father. Apparently they still have a lovely bouquet of plugs he gave them on the mantel." Rebecca tousled Bill's hair absently with one hand as she squinted and traced the inscriptions on the cave with the other.  "Just remember that five dates, an outing to Hogsmeade, and a Yule Ball do not a long-term relationship make. Besides, Mother swears it was designed only to make a certain Molly Bentley incredibly jealous. The favours one does for one's best friends, eh?"

"I think it explains a lot, though." Bill said almost absently. He wedged a tiny bronze amulet into the rock, and looked around him for the pot of processed dragon innards, or the "Everlasting Stinky Goo," as the crew had been wont to call it recently. 

When he found the enamelled jar, partially stuck under a pile of rubble he'd inadvertently knocked free earlier, he accidentally-on-purpose caught his fiancée's eye. She was giving him a suspicious look. He really smirked then, unaware of his none-too-subtle resemblance to his younger twin brothers. "Well, you know, I hear after you go Weasley, all other men are just disappointments." 

"That's very Stone-Age of you, William." Rebecca did sound a touch put out now. She kept fiddling with the etchings, prodding them with her wand with a bit more vehemence. "Mother and Nell are very happy. And they have been for more than twenty years. I seem to recall their wedding photos including a nice redheaded couple as attendants, too. Though that couple's eldest child appears to have picked up absolutely _none_ of their endearing qualities."

"I love Nell. You know I love her." Bill back-pedalled as quickly as possible. Oops. He hadn't meant that as anything but teasing. "I swear I was kidding. Really. I swear I'm looking forward to having not just one, but _two_ mothers-in-law." He ducked as a small rock hurtled towards him. "Hey, we're working, remember? No fair injuring the demolition man in the middle of things. Rivka will not be impressed if you slow us down like that."

"Whatever, Weasley." But he could see that she smiled when she returned to sorting out the writings in front of her.

He chuckled as he smeared the ESG over the bronze figurine. He leaned back. This was his favourite part. Now he had about ten minutes before it would mix together and —

**_BOOM!  _**

His eyebrows shot up. 

**_What the hell? _**

He stared closely at the vault. 

_Wait a second . . . it's still closed. And that went off way too quickly anyway. _

Bill looked around him. Rebecca was looking over his head, at the back of the cave. He followed her gaze and saw a flickering green light about fifty meters away.

"What is that?" he asked. "Is this some new part of the curse trainings that your mother's come up with? Dancing Demeter, I thought my cracking potion had gone completely — " 

Rebecca held a hand up and he stopped. She started running down the cave corridor. He quickly cast a Freezing Spell on the cracker he'd set and hurried after her.****

****"Rebecca?" She didn't answer. As he caught up with her, he saw that her face was puzzled and worried. They got closer and Bill could see that it was just regular green fire in an ordinary brick fireplace. Well, as ordinary as a fireplace like that could be if it suddenly appeared in an Egyptian cave. 

He turned to his fiancée. "I didn't know that they let people use the fireplaces here, ever. I almost forgot that they were installed."

"That's what's so odd," she said, staring intently at the fire. "These are for emergencies only. We can't use them during exercises, particularly not these big simulations. Nobody can get through except if Gringotts clears them, and have you ever tried getting special clearance out of one of those goblins? There practically has to be a death in the fam — " Rebecca broke off as Arthur Weasley's face appeared.

Bill took a step back. "Dad?" 

Quietly, Rebecca put her arm around him.  

*          *          *          *

It was several hundred yards to the mouth of the cave, but it didn't take Bill long at all to get to the entrance.

The woman there was biting her lip in concentration, prying at a symbol with her wand. She didn't seem to see him as he passed her, but she must have heard him, because without moving she said firmly, 

"Weasley, we're in the middle of this curse-breaking. We're not going to stop for another two hours, at least. You know that these exercises are timed and if we don't crack this cataco — "

Bill whirled around and lost his temper. He'd remained perfectly calm during the talk with his father and as he defused the cracker in the tomb — he'd never leave one, even a frozen one, set for more than an hour if he wasn't there to watch it. If Rivka wanted to see timed, she should have seen him take that apart.  

_"LOOK_, my kid brother — the one we're all a bit afraid will bite it and soon — nearly got himself killed again. So, _if_ you'll excuse me, I am leaving to meet my father. If you want to fire me for it, I hope that you thoroughly enjoy yourself doing so." He knew he was overreacting, but he didn't care. Molly Weasley's temper had a way of doing that. 

Rivka's demeanour immediately changed to one of concern and appeasement. "All right, Bill. You know I didn't know that. Go. I'll just get — " and she blew out a breath in thought — "Rebecca to cover for you. She's not as strong with the cracking as you are, and it'll slow us a bit, but she can do it. And this is more important."

 "All right, then." She nodded.     

"I'm sorry," he said more quietly. Rivka rolled her eyes.

"If I'd thought you were really dangerous, you wouldn't even be able to apologise at this point. Just go, Weasley. Get back when you can. Understood?" 

He nodded, chastened, and turned to go.  McGonagall had nothing on his boss, he admitted to himself. Bill was more than a little afraid that Ginny would be that intimidating in a few years, and he had no idea how he could maintain sibling superiority in the face of such a challenge. 

"Bill." He looked back at her. She seemed almost motherly, and her eyes were full of sympathy and things that reminded him of the time . . . "Tell your parents — tell Arthur — that my thoughts are with them. And you." 

Bill nodded again, and opened the huge stone door that separated the training areas from the rest of Gringotts. Still lost in thought, he almost didn't notice the people shuffling around him as he left the bank. He shook his head and smiled sadly to himself. 

It wasn't fair to be the oldest child in a family like his, one where the younger you were . . . 

Bill suddenly swallowed hard and put a very old memory away.__

_Christ, Ron. You've got to have more lives than a bloody **cat.**_

*         *          *          * 

Charlie Weasley, though he didn't like to admit to such qualities, and preferred to show his action-oriented side, was actually quite the logician. He and Percy shared a memory for categories and organization, and only Ron surpassed Charlie's ability for strategy. He hadn't been captain of the Quidditch team at Hogwarts for nothing. And he certainly needed a clear head to deal with dragons. There were some creatures that just shouldn't be riled.

"We're going to need bait. How many of the goats have we got around?"

He glanced at his partner for the answer. Frank Jeffers was a little new at the job. At twenty-one, the younger man had only graduated to handling a few months ago, but he worked hard and Charlie liked him. 

_He just needs to learn the ropes a bit more, and then he'll be a damn good handler.   _

"Just one more — they're bringing in more this afternoon."

"How'd we get so short?" 

"Transport got a bit stuck at the Romanian border." The younger man shrugged. "Something about illegal enchantment of merchandise. Finnegan said we won't be using that company again for shipping."

"Let's hope it's just Butter Ball who's feeling ornery, then, or we're not going to get a lot done here."

"Who named that beast anyway? I'd be ornery, too, if everyone kept calling me Butter Ball."

 "One of the girls a few years back. He was quite the round little hatchling. Then — " and Charlie tilted his head to indicate the snorting dragon stomping around the pen. "— well, he grew up."

"Certainly did." Frank sighed. "I'll get the goat, eh?"

Charlie nodded, and the younger man went over to the edge of the pen and muttered a de-glamour charm, revealing a smaller pen with a plump billy goat in it. He led the animal out into the middle of the ring, hooked a chain to its collar and staked it down. Frank hurried back to his partner, who was watching the irritable dragon. 

It hadn't yet noticed the newly re-scented goat. 

"Wish we had a couple more goats to send his way. Help get his attention," Frank said wistfully. 

"Unfortunately, many of them seem to prefer people." Charlie's mouth quirked up.

"Too bad we haven't got any extra of those lying around." Frank snapped his fingers "I've got it. I'll get my Uncle John out here. We can use him — my mother's always saying that he's just a useless layabout anyway." He chuckled a little. "Hey, you're the one with the large family — got any brothers or sisters that have annoyed you lately?"  

Charlie was still looking at the agitated dragon. It seemed to have finally registered the rather scrumptious-looking goat in front of it. The redhead's tone didn't change and his voice didn't rise, but there was still something a bit dangerous about his words. "That's not funny. Don't you _ever_ joke about that with me, or by Merlin's wand, I promise that you will have a very unpleasant incident in this pen."  His jaw worked. The other man drew back, cowed. "Are we clear?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, mate." 

The goat made a squealing noise and there was a loud crunch. The two men winced in sympathy as they finished clearing the rest of the dragons out. They left Butter Ball to finish his snack, and went out of the pen to join the other handlers. Charlie nodded to the group, flexed his hands and walked over to the large dispenser to grab a drink of water. He could hear Frank talking to someone else, clearly unaware that Charlie was still in earshot.

"I didn't mean anything by it, honestly. I offered up my uncle and I love that crazy old man."

 The other man's voice was deeper, calmer, and had a bit of a brogue. Charlie recognized it: Jamie Finnegan, the tallest of the handlers, and probably the most intimidating to those who hadn't met him, but the least to those who had. "Look, Frank, I know. If you'd said it to me, I would have laughed. I've got an older sister I wouldn't mind terrorizing with a dragon a few times." He chuckled and then his voice turned serious. "But with Weasley — well, you know my brother Seamus' classmate, right? You were in school with Harry Potter your last year."

"Yeah. Didn't know him very well — I was in Hufflepuff and I was seventh-year, but he seemed like a nice kid. Poor guy. Been through a lot." 

"Would you ever make a joke about his parents dying?"

"No! That's just sick! They were — " Frank sounded utterly aghast at the suggestion.

Jamie cut him off gently. "Right." 

Charlie heard the Irishman's heavier footsteps walking away, back towards the handling pen. He put his empty cup down in the bin they took to the house-elves when they returned to base camp at night. A few escaped hatchlings squeaked and sparked a few feet away. He supposed he'd have to catch them in a couple of minutes, but right now he just enjoyed watching them play together. 

_Cute little beasts. Must be from the same brood to get along so well.___

He turned to find his dragon hide gloves so that he could pick them up without getting his hands scorched, but as he did so, he saw something in the distance that grabbed his attention. 

On the other side of the handling area there was a bright shock of familiar hair. He immediately forgot about catching the hatchlings and started walking towards it. 

_Maybe it's Bill. Probably brought Rebecca over to show off his limited dragon skills_. 

No, the figure had short hair. He squinted and thought he could make out a pair of glasses. Charlie rubbed his eyes a bit to make sure he was seeing correctly. 

_Then that means it's — ___

"Percy?" He shouted to make his words carry. "Is that you?"

The tall figure waved at him. Charlie scrunched his forehead. Percy hardly ever came out to Romania — apparently dragons, even just visiting dragons, were not Percy's cup of Ministerial tea, and Percy always made sure to let Charlie know if he was planning a visit. His brother hadn't earned the nickname Perfect Percy for nothing. He felt his stomach get very knotted inside. 

Maybe it was only a visit. One couldn't discount the possibility of complete personality transfers. This _was_ the wizarding world, after all. 

"Hey, Percy. What brings you to Dragon Central, Eastern Europe?" He tried to keep his voice light and neutral. No use worrying if there wasn't anything to worry about. And he was sure that there probably wasn't. 

"Hello. I'm terribly sorry to drop in on you like this, Charlie, but — " and Charlie's stomach wasn't just twisted anymore — now it was full of stones and lead weights, too. 

Percy took a deep breath. "Ron had a bit of an accident." 

"What kind of accident?" Charlie stared hard at his brother, but still kept his cheerful tone. "He's always getting into scrapes and rows. He has accidents all the time. What's so extraordinary about Ron having an accident?" 

All right. Percy had come all the way out here to tell him that Ron had an accident. If Ron had a black eye or a broken arm, that wouldn't warrant a visit to Romania, no matter how fast International Apparition transfers went nowadays. 

Percy's voice sounded a little odd, even for Percy. "Apparently he had an encounter with some Death Eaters last night. He, Harry and Hermione got banged up. Ron took the worst of it, though — he pushed Harry out of the way of a curse and took it himself."

Charlie swore. The cheerful pretence was gone now. "God, that kid really does belong in Gryffindor, doesn't he?" He gave his brother a wry smile. His eyes narrowed again and the smile faded as he asked, "But he's fine, right?" 

"I called Mum at Hogwarts. They think so. But they're not sure when he's going to wake up."

_Oh no._

"By 'not sure when' are they estimating _hours_?"  

"Days." Percy spoke very softly. "Maybe weeks." Charlie closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

_I hate those bloody Death Eaters. I hate them a little more every day._

Percy continued, "Dad's meeting Bill at the Ministry. Mum's still at Hogwarts. I think Dad and Bill are going over to the school as soon as they can. I'll stop by the infirmary when I get back."

"I'll come with you," Charlie said. "I've got a few days of personal leave left, and I can take at least one now. Give me a second to let the others know. We've got a couple new handlers, so they won't be short."

The other redhead nodded, and took off his glasses to polish them with a bit of his robe pocket. Charlie headed over to the holding area.

_It was so much easier when we were kids — if anything happens, just follow the Emergency Weasley Action Plan. _

His parents had sat them down one at a time to teach them the E. W. A. P. , as his father had deemed it, and then the whole family would discuss it. Almost every time they reviewed the E. W. A. P. , the group was a bit larger than before.

The two most important rules came back to him:

_If it's at all possible, stay together until it's over_.

_Everyone always look out for each other._

Ina practical sense, this pretty much boiled down to each Weasley keeping an extra close eye on the next Weasley down the line. Bill was the most responsible for Charlie and Charlie was the most responsible for — Percy, now, and Percy looked out for Ron while Ron looked out for Ginny. He supposed Ginny was responsible for Bill. Charlie wasn't quite sure how that worked. The twins looked out for each other. And everyone looked out for the twins, though in a slightly different manner. 

He grinned at that thought and then he grinned even more widely at another memory.

_"Ginny's gone lost! We have to call the EEEE-WHAP!"_

Charlie could almost hear Ron's tiny five-year-old voice, the moment of absolute silence that followed it and then the twins' uproarious laughter, as Ginny crawled out from under the kitchen table. And the EEE-WHAP it was after that morning.

_ Bit harder to call the EEE-WHAP now, what with everyone spread out and all._

He shook his head. 

_Back to the present, Weasley. Doesn't do much good to think about wanting to be a kid again now._

Jamie and Frank were leaning against the side of the pen, watching Butter Ball grumble. They looked up when they heard Charlie's footsteps. He jerked his thumb to point out Percy.

"Family emergency. My brother's been hurt." He barely flicked his eyes to Frank, who looked embarrassed and a bit ashamed. "I'd like to take one of my leave days so I can head home, check in, see if there's anything I can do. Prob'ly be back tomorrow."

Jamie clapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's fine — not much left for today anyway except Butter Ball, and Frank and I can get him. Take care."

"Yeah. Thanks, mate." Charlie gave Jamie a brief nod and a smile. He walked back to where Percy was waiting.    

Something on the ground glinted in the light, and Charlie glanced at it. He squinted and picked it up. It was a flat metal thing, a bit dusty from where it was laying. He rubbed it on his work pants. The brass shone a bit more brightly now.

_What is something like that doing around here? _

His was somewhere in a drawer at the Burrow, and he honestly doubted that any of the other handlers were the sort who'd bring that with them. He stuck it in his pocket. Not anything important right now, anyway. Other things needed to be dealt with first. He looked back at his brother. 

Percy was tapping his foot. Charlie rolled his eyes.

"If it took that much time, you could just have called on the fire, Perce. You didn't have to take time away from official Ministry business coming over here." He meant it only half-seriously, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he saw Percy flinch and he regretted saying them. 

**_Why_**_ do I have to be such an ass sometimes?_

"Hard time getting through to here on the fire." Charlie couldn't read the expression on Percy's face. "Owl would have taken longer, wouldn't it? I thought you'd rather know sooner. Sorry to have bothered you." And with a quick step, he turned away.

"_Wait_, Percy, I didn't — " But his brother had already Disapparated. 

Charlie sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Quite a day this was turning out to be. He picked up his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder and was about to Disapparate after Percy, when out of the corner of his eye he saw someone approaching him. He lowered his wand and turned.

It was Frank. He bit his lip. Hesitantly, he said, "Charlie, look. I didn't — " He paused and started over. "I just, you know, didn't think that — "

Charlie's smile was tight but sincere. He put his hand in his pocket and felt the small plate of engraved metal there. "Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us. We're good." He glanced at the spot where Percy had Disapparated. 

He repeated himself softly. "We're good." 

Frank looked grateful. "Hope things work out, mate. See you when you get back."

Charlie nodded absently. Something was starting to bother him and he couldn't put his finger on it. He waved to the other man and Disapparated to the Romanian transfer station. As he went through the mindless bureaucratic process of getting cleared to Apparate to Ottery St. Catchpole, it occurred to him what that niggling worry was about.

His dutiful brother had broken the Weasleys' most important rule. 

Charlie might have been known to bend or even "accidentally" break a few rules when it was necessary or convenient, and he certainly understood that his brother had a right to be upset with him, but he still didn't like that at all. __

*          *          *          *

No one else was there when Percy Weasley got back to the Burrow that afternoon. He was a bit dishevelled from the trip back and forth from Romania, and then to the infirmary, just to, you know, check up on things, but the messy clothes didn't matter for once. It had been important to go, even if he did get smacked in the face every time he tried to do something for his family. But Charlie's offhand comment had reminded him how glad he was to be moving at the end of the month.

He walked down the hall to Ron's room and pushed the door open. The blindingly orange room was strangely quiet without Ron in it. He thought to himself that it even seemed to make noise when Ron was home but wasn't in his room — what with the piles of clutter and other things that his younger brother left strewn around. 

Now, though, it was neat — their mother had gone in armed with her wand and some powerful cleaning spells and made the place presentable, except for the orange posters and wizards zipping about on broomsticks across the walls. They zipped across the sheets of shiny paper and went on with their tiny, not-really-real lives.

Suddenly, their presence irritated him. He did something he hardly ever did — he struck out, slamming his fist against a particularly jocular and busy picture.

"Stop it," he hissed at the Cannons. "Just bloody stop it." And shocked, the little figures did — zooming out of sight so quickly that Percy had to blink several times before he was sure that they had even been there in the first place.

_Got to control yourself, Perce_, he thought. _Not worth getting worked up over. Just a stupid picture after all, and **really**, is that how a member of the Ministry should present himself?_

He straightened his robes and went over to Ron's bed. It was a minute before he did anything but just look at it, seeing how very small the bed seemed since the last time he'd been there. Percy lay down on the old coverlet, and his feet hung over the edge. He was the second tallest Weasley now, after Ron, not that anyone would have noticed it. 

*          *          *          *

_"What're you doing?"_

_"Well, spiders hang off the ceiling, right?"_

_"Yeah. . ."_

_"SO, if they want to get you, and I'm watching the ceiling, they'd have to get me first." Percy drew himself up to his full, not-quite-intimidating height._

_"Yeah," his little brother said doubtfully_

_"Well, I'd kill them first then."_

_"I s'pose. Maybe you could." Ron didn't appear to believe him, but he also didn't stop his older brother from curling up underneath the blankets._

_And Percy lay awake all night, looking for spiders. He was **not** falling down on the job. He'd **promised**. And even at the age of eight, he did nothing except meet every expectation that was required._

That night, as he lay in the bed again, he didn't manage to stay awake all night. It wasn't as if there was anyone there to protect this time, anyway.

                                    *          *          *          *

Percy woke up in the morning stiff and sore. He sat up and turned his head from side to side, trying to stretch out the cricks in it.

Something shiny on the corner of the bed caught his eye as he climbed down. 

What's my Prefect Badge doing here? That's supposed to be in my pocket, on my Ministry keys. 

He shrugged. Probably had fallen off the fob. Stupid badge had taken so much of a beating from those twins, no wonder it couldn't hold up. He was glad he'd put another, Unbreakable-charmed key chain and fob on his keys so that he'd always keep those with him. Not that he ever lost them. Still, he thrust his hand in the pocket of his wrinkled robe, just to be sure. They were there. Of course they were. He'd have to remember to clip them to his clean robe after he showered.

Absently, he picked up the badge and shoved it in with the keys.

_Prefect — supposed to be in charge and keep things safe. Not any good at **that**, are we, Perce?_

*          *          *          *

_The sun was shining in the windows and the light spilled over the top of the bed, speckling the blanket. He heard a noise next to him and he rolled over to see what it was._

_Ron was looking at him sleepily._

_"Did any spiders get you?"_

_"No." Ron smiled at his brother, surprised, and his baby-round cheeks dimpled._

_Skinny, awkward, shy Percy Weasley suddenly felt a thousand feet tall._

*          *          *          *

II. Absens In Remota 

*          *          *          *

Note: Alt-POV during the gap between Chapters 2 and 3 of "Something Else." 

**Warning**: If you're cheating and reading this before "Something Else," 

this one really has a huge spoiler for that story.  

*          *          *          *

" . . . So Marvin Miggs the Mad Muggle glided off above the streets of London, in yet another daring and brilliant rescue of the fair Muggle girl in his arms." 

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ron, you read some real rubbish, you know that? It's not even accurate. British Muggles, to _my_ knowledge, do not, nor have they ever, parachuted off of 'That Big Clock Ben,' as your comic claims. And parachutes can't _glide_, anyway. Maybe you should ring up that accountant second cousin of yours."  The redhead beside her didn't answer. His eyes were closed, as they had been for almost five days now. Hermione carefully slipped her arm out from around him, where she had put it as she held the book, as though she had been reading to a small child.

She set the comic down on the little bedside table and sighed. She was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than just to lie down and fall asleep where she was, but she knew she couldn't do that. 

**_That_**_ would give Hogwarts something to talk about . . . "Scarlet woman found cheating on Harry Potter with his unconscious best friend." Like Harry and I have **ever** been **anything** . . ._

She shook her head, put her legs over the edge of the bed and hopped down. Hermione sat down on the nearest chair, put on her shoes, and then she reached over and began to stack the pile of comic books into her backpack. She couldn't get it all the way closed, but she figured she could make it back to Gryffindor without the bag splitting completely open. 

She turned to her best friend, and leaned over him, gently smoothing that little piece of hair that _always_ fell out of place back from his forehead.  "I'll see you tomorrow, I promise. Harry and the twins will be up, too. They're practically going insane — did you realise that? You should see Fred, it's like he's not even really there. George barely says anything unless he's asking the nurse all these technical questions that he already knows the answers to. And _Harry_, well, you may need a new chess set after this, you know." Hermione laughed. "Oh, and don't worry — I'm not going to keep these awful things. I'll drop them off in your room in the morning. Okay? I mean, as long as nobody sees me up there. I'll have to go really early — maybe if everyone's sleeping, then I'll be fine. Can you imagine what would happen if I got caught in the boys' dormitory? A _Prefect_?" She shuddered. "I'd never live it do — "   

The infirmary door opened, and Hermione froze. She heard someone come in.

_Madam Pomfrey. Ohhh . . ._

She sat down on the chair again and stayed very still, hoping that the nurse would not come over to Ron's bed. Right now, the half-pulled curtain was shielding her from view, but if the nurse came any closer, Hermione might as well wave a flag and shoot sparks from the end of her wand. She breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as she heard Madam Pomfrey's step turn back towards the door.

Abruptly, a funny feeling tickled her nose. "Aaahh — " She tried to stop it, but it was too late " — _CHOO!_" **_Damn_**_ allergies. _

The nurse's footsteps stopped and turned around. 

_Oh no. I'm going to be in **so **much trouble._

Hermione looked wildly about for a place to hide. Not seeing any better possibilities, she dove under Ron's bed. From her new vantage point, she could see Madam Pomfrey's feet as they paced the ward. Hermione held her breath, trying to send some sort of signal to the nurse.

_Nobody's here. No one. Please leave. Please._

The feet stopped by Hermione's abandoned chair for a moment.__

_I hate whoever sent Katie Bell flowers. I hate them. I will find them and **hex **them so hard they will have to remove my wand from their — _

Suddenly, one of the feet started tapping its toe in a sort of exasperation.

"Well," the older woman said. "Quality reading material you've got here, Mr Weasley. I'm not sure how you managed the trick of actually perusing it, since you seem to still be unconscious. Nor do I know how you've acquired Miss Granger's overstuffed backpack. You certainly _are_ quite a wizard."

**_Ohhhh . ._**_ ._

"Young lady," Madam Pomfrey said, not unkindly, to the figure under the bed. "You've been in here every night this week." Hermione poked her head out and looked at her guiltily. The nurse went on, "No more. You need to get some rest or you'll be in the same shape your friend is. I don't _want_ to have to give you a detention, but if I catch you up here again after hours, I will. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione nodded silently, cheeks scarlet. She climbed out from under the bed, picked up her bookbag and left the infirmary, walking down the empty halls back to Gryffindor Tower. 

_Madam Pomfrey's right_, she thought, _I can't do anything for him right now. I've just got to be patient and wait it out. He'll be fine. It's not like he even **knows** I'm there._

She climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory, went into her room, set her bag by her desk and lay down on her bed, staring up at the canopy until she fell asleep.

*          *          *          *

The next night she went back anyway. 

*          *          *          *

III. The Rest Falls Away 

*          *          *          *

Note: Alt-POV for Chapter 6; "No Man Than This"

*          *          *          *

 _His face, emotionless for the first time in her experience, stared at her. Blank and clouded eyes looked out from that awful, awful pallor._

_No. **Not** this time.  _

She shook her head to rid herself of the memory, and Hermione did the only thing she could think of to do.

(I'm going to be a knight.) 

She pulled her wand back**__**

****

**_Thock!_**

and her other best friend looked up at her, disoriented. 

Ohhhh, he's going to be mad about that. **Really** mad.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Harry. In a second you won't feel it. It wears off." Hermione was suddenly very serious. "You're not going out there. Promise me, Harry, that you'll both get out of this. _Promise_." She let go of his arm. 

"Her- Hermione!"

And before Harry could stop her, Hermione rolled out from under the cloak and scrambled to her feet. She started talking to herself as she ran. Getting angry seemed to cover up how very scared she was, and she could pretend it was just one of the many minor scrapes they'd been in that were all obviously completely Ron's fault and that _she_ was somehow going to get in trouble for, despite the _obvious_ injustice of blaming _her_. She stepped on something and it smashed under her foot, making an angry crunch that seemed to go with her mood. 

"If I ever _get_ my hands on that REDheaded son of a — no, I will _not_ say that word — I'll kill him myself. I _swear_ I would have set an absolute RECORD for O.W.L.S. _Can't_ believe it." And then the anger disappeared and the uncertainty came out in her words. "Oh, please do this Harry, please." 

For an instant, Hermione thought about turning around.

No. She couldn't go out like _that. _ She _wouldn't._ Not now. She was going to do this and they couldn't stop her because she'd rather do anything than wake up tomorrow with those eyes anything other than a horrible stupid boggarty illusion.  

She sucked in a breath and she took every time that she had ever been mad in her _entire_ life and every time that she wanted to scream and hadn't and held it in because you couldn't _scream_ at a professor, even one as _awful_ as Professor Snape and every time that she was _so_ angry with Ron and Harry for even just a split-_second_ and every time she'd _ever_ been called a freak or a know-it-all by _anyone_ but Ron and every time that she was _furious_ about how people treated those hard-working _elves_ and let all of that righteous anger out in the loudest fit she'd had _ever_, even topping that one in the common room where she'd thrown the _textbook_ across the table.  "Come on, you bastards! Wouldn't you rather take a Mudblood?! Or don't _you_ think you can defeat someone _Muggle_-born?"  

_That's it. Oh God. **What** did I just do?_

And the Death Eaters, in the face of the Greatest Tantrum Ever Thrown, whipped around to face her.

_Harry James Potter, you better do this. You better. Or I **swear** I'll haunt you. I will make you more miserable than Moaning Myrtle makes the male prefects. That's a **promise**._

"Little Mudblooded girl." And then the tenor of the voice changed. It became silky smooth, placating.

"Where's the boy, girl? Tell me."

Hermione pressed her lips together. 

_Not even. _

 "Tell me and I might spare you. After all, there is always room for a Mudblood slave in our world. A life like that's better than death, little girl." The last sentence hissed out, cutting into her ears.

"I don't know to whom you are referring." 

"Really." There was mirthless laughter. "Tell me where Potter is."    

Then a horrible word,

"_Crucio!_"    

Hermione screamed.

_This hurts so much so much so much._

She dropped to her knees. The pain overwhelmed almost everything she knew. 

I won't scream anymore. I won't let them have the satisfaction.

Hermione drove her teeth into her lip so hard that she tasted salt as blood began to trickle from it. She didn't care anymore. It was tearing through her, scorching her inside. She focussed on the actual sensation—trying to define it, pin it down. If she could name it, then it couldn't be as bad.

Burning. It's burning. How appropriate for a witch.

She took that label and categorized all of the hurt and pushed it all together and for just an instant, it lessened. Her mind, waiting for the chance, snapped back into place.

_Ron's a lot taller than Harry. A lot. There's no way Harry can have made it yet. They need more time._

"Go!" Hermione whispered hoarsely, hoping that Harry could hear her. "Just go. The two of you—go." She looked around for a sign that they were safe.

_You never got into Ravenclaw, remember? **This** is what you're supposed to be good for, right?_

She stumbled to her feet, wand clenched in her hand.

"HARRY! _GO_, GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!" Her wand lashed out.**_ "Detonius!"_**

The earth exploded in front of her. Several of the masked wizards fell over, hurt or stunned, she hoped.

_Don't let them do this. It'll be over soon anyway. Just hang on for a bit more, Granger._

"You won't get away with this," she cried out, staggering. Her grip on her wand was even tighter, and her knuckles went white. 

It even hurt to breathe. Dizzily, she fell to her knees again, gasping harder and harder. "Harry will never let you . . ."

_No, **not** just Harry this time. **I** did this, too. I, **Hermione Granger**, have put my foot down._**_My_**_ foot is down.___

"_I _won't let you . . ." 

That's it, then. I chose.  

Her thoughts sped up as she realised she was running low on time.

I love you I love you all. I really do. I'm so sorry. I wish I didn't have to do this.

But I **do**. I **have** to.  

That thought stood out over the other ones.

She snapped her head up, eyes blazing, and finished her rant. "You're all nothing but a bunch of pathetic idiots terrified that—that you're going to lose. **I'm** not scared, d'you hear **that**, Death Eaters? A _Mudblood_ who doesn't give a rat's **arse** about you!"

I'm lying I'm **so **terrified and I hurt **so **badly and I want this to be over I want it to be over please.

"I'm not scared of y—"

"_Avada_—"   

"Oh God—"

_—please let them be safe please._

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger hoped that Divination wasn't a bunch of rubbish. 

I wish you all could hear me right now I love you I do— 

"—**_Kedavra_**!"  

The curse struck her and it felt like everything suddenly decelerated. She might have been plummeting forever, for all she knew. Her mind was clear, almost detached, though her slowing thoughts seemed to stretch back out into wherever she was falling.

_That's **funny**. I should be falling the  _

_other  way._

_Because I'm_

****

**_facing_**__

_the_

_cur—_

****

*          *          *          *

IV. Rustle Of A Wing 

*         *          *          *

Alt-POV snippet from Chapter 7, "Every Language Is Silent"

*          *          *          *

Ron was sitting at a table in the common room. 

_No,_ he corrected himself, _not just a table. Her table._

Well, his too, because he usually sat there as well, playing chess or pretending to study when really he was sneaking peeks at her every so often. He heard the chair across from him scrape back and a familiar someone sat down in it. 

_Must be Hermione come over to bother me_, he thought. _I **hate** those blasted spells of hers, always getting everyone so riled and then everything's fine. _

He sighed, exasperated.

_Good thing Pig's all right—I really wouldn't even be speaking to her otherwise. And after all of that stuff tonight, well—_

He looked up from the table, ready to give her hell for playing such a stupid trick on them, and then to grin at her and tell her that he hadn't been fooled for a second. Right before he could open his mouth and say something that would send her into a fury for a week, he realized that it wasn't her — it was Harry. His other best friend looked exhausted and a bit scared. 

For a second Ron wanted to ask him what was the matter, why Harry was so pale, but in the next instant he remembered why he had looked up in the first place and his heart sank. 

He let his fingers trace over the letters that were scorched into the wood. Unlike most everything else right now, they were concrete and he could feel the bumps and marks where his charm had gone a bit awry. 

_She'd have been mad even if it **wasn't** about her—just look how little I applied myself to making the carving come out right._

*          *          *          *

**V. If Evil Is Inevitable . . .**

*         *          *          *

Another Alt-POV clip from Chapter 7, "Every Language Is Silent"

*          *          *          *

The corridors down to the house common room seemed particularly long and cold tonight. There must have been a draft, Draco Malfoy realized. Stupid castle. Couldn't even get the elves to take care of a thing properly. They needed kicking, not freeing—that was all he had to say about those stupid creatures. After all, clearly wizards couldn't function properly in such an environment. No wonder he'd failed that Transfiguration exam today. His father would hear about this. Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and narrowed his eyes at the stone floor. 

He hoped that Weasley was freezing in his ragged old hand-me-downs. 

"Nasty morbid little creatures," he heard Snape mutter under his breath. "Think it's all some sort of telewizard programme." Most of Slytherin House followed him, murmuring. Some of the murmuring sounded almost happy, but mostly it just seemed surprised. Mudblood or not, that was a dead _person_, and one that most of them had known, even if they hadn't liked her and her snotty Muggle-y Gryffindor ways.

"Why can't we go see it?" one girl that Draco recognized as a first-year, said in a whinging voice. "I want to see it. I never got to see what a Death Eater could do." Her voice was sharp and high enough that it cut through the general chattering, and the sallow man at the front of the queue turned sharply and strode back through the line of students. They flattened themselves against the wall automatically. Everyone, even Slytherins, knew that one did not get in Professor Snape's way, unless one wanted the consequences.

Draco relished the moment before the Potions professor spoke, waiting for the inevitable rebuke. It was like the instant before lightning struck — you could feel the charge and your hair prickled up with excitement and fear.

Professor Snape looked the girl over coldly, and did something he hardly ever did; he bent over and got down to a student's much shorter height. 

"Get back to the common room," the instructor snarled. The first-year fled, nearly tripping over her robes as she went. Her wand clattered to the floor.

The rest of Slytherin, more subdued now, walked back through the castle behind her disappearing form. No one picked up the wand.

Pansy Parkinson was walking next to Draco. He ignored her and hoped she'd leave him alone. Some witches just never knew when to quit. Pansy didn't take the hint.

"She was a really horrid little thing," she said. "She and that bratty Potter all over each other everywhere, lording it over the school, like they were actually something special." The pug-nosed girl paused for a moment. "Still, she shouldn't be dead. Just expelled or something." She smirked and leaned in to whisper in Draco's ear. "Or maybe failed. Did you hear that was her boggart for the werewolf two years ago? Failing a class — what a stupid cowardly fear, anyway." 

Draco gave her the most unpleasant and condescending look in his entire broad repertoire of unpleasant and condescending looks. Pathetic. Girls were so gossipy and pathetic. They'd turn on anyone in a second — just give them a reason. 

Pansy backtracked with incredible speed. "Well, I mean, I don't care that she's dead or anything, just that now if there's a Ball, when I go with my date" — she looked sideways at Draco and he rolled his eyes — "I won't be able to show that pathetic little Granger what a spectacle she made of herself last year. I can't show her how real witches look when they put in a little effort." 

Draco was disgusted. She didn't understand the importance of this kind of thing. This wasn't some childish show-off game — it was about wizarding pride and having standards, not Balls. It was about knowing your rightful place and understanding that others had their place. People today, as his father said, just didn't know what was important anymore. Muggle-lovers and weak little whiners were draining the wizarding world.  

"That's what happens to Mudbloods," he shrugged, ignoring the twinge deep in his stomach. "It's their own faults for getting into things that they shouldn't be a part of. As I told Potter, shame she didn't learn her lesson before this." Pansy's mouth was open in a shocked but almost admiring "Oh," and Draco hoped that she'd recovered from her brush with sympathy and remembered the way things were. 

_It really is just as well_. _Serve_ _as warning to those other Muggle brats — maybe then they'll leave on their own. Better for them anyway._

He felt a bit more satisfied about things until he glanced round and saw the head of his house staring at him. Professor Snape wore an espression remarkably close to the one he maintained when addressing Harry Potter, and Draco suddenly was very uneasy, as though he had crossed a line that he hadn't known was there. 

*          *          *          *

**VI. Into Her Own**

*          *          *          *

Yet another Alt-POV from Chapter 7

*          *          *          *

Professor McGonagall sat down heavily in the chair that Harry had vacated only a few moments before. "Hermione Granger is in with Poppy now. It doesn't look good —even _Poppy_ was saying that it was too late." She felt her normally severe expression slip into one that was far sadder and far older. She had no idea that the effect was more awful than any glare she could achieve. "I didn't hear them at first, Albus — not at first. I heard shouting and then I left my office. I stopped to lock everything up. I thought it was those Weasley twins pulling another prank. It wasn't until I really heard what they were saying that I started to worry that something really had happened. I wasted all that _time_."  

"With Avada Kedavra? Minerva, you know as well as I do that if Miss Granger was touched by that curse, it wouldn't matter if you had gotten there a second afterwards or an hour." 

"Still, what sort of a teacher does that make me? That I'd stop to check my _office_ was secured before worrying about the safety of my _pupils_? Perhaps I'm getting too old for this job." 

"Minerva." 

But she wasn't listening. "Locked it all up as usual —"

Dumbledore looked down at what he had written on a crumpled piece of paper. "Of course you did." The headmaster smiled indulgently.

"Albus." As angry with herself as she was, Minerva McGonagall had not lost her instantaneous ability to ascertain when something was not quite what it seemed. She looked at Dumbledore sternly, as though he were not a good half-century older than she was. "Is there something I should know about?"

"You may not have been as collected as you recall yourself to be. A certain item that was in your possession is about to be, shall we say, _borrowed_? I'm sure you won't miss it." 

"_Who_ is going to be borrowing _what_?" All of her professorial instincts came back in full force.

"That's hardly important, Minerva." The headmaster peered again at his parchment. "However, if you must ask, you should be aware that there are at least two young women in your house who promise to be as formidable and as naturally gifted as you." 

'Flattery does not get far with me." But Professor McGonagall smiled a little.

"Perhaps not." Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgment. "However, courage and resilience do. So, perhaps we might overlook the Time-Turner that is about to go missing from your properly locked desk, and let Miss Weasley be as brilliant and daring as she has the potential to be. After all, that _other_ young woman rather depends on it."

The Transfiguration teacher sighed. She was stuck and she knew it. Although she never let herself play favourites in class or when it came to discipline, she had always had a soft spot in her heart for Hermione Granger, and the image of the girl lifeless on a stretcher was one of the worst things she'd seen since the First War. 

"Let's hope," she said, half to herself, "let's hope that you're right."

Albus Dumbledore smiled. "Minerva, I have made many mistakes in my life. But I have never made the error of putting my trust in the wrong people." 

It was not often that she looked grateful, but if one had been watching closely, the expression that passed over Minerva McGonagall's face could only be described as that.

*          *          *          *

VII. Another, Greater One 

*          *          *          *

Alt-POV from Chapter 9, " . . .Gives You Courage"

*          *          *          *

She heard him talking to her — in that quiet, intense voice that he reserved only for people who really meant something, and she was so glad that she'd been right about him and Cho. It was nice to be right about things that weren't just schoolwork, particularly things that helped your friends out in some way. Then she felt his hand around hers, squeezing back with surprise and happiness. And then it was as if everything came back in a rush, a wave of sense and reality, so fast that her eyes sprung open of their own accord and Hermione had to sit up just to breathe.  She ached in ways she hadn't known were possible, and the flood of sensation and pain made her shiver. 

Then the world around her really registered and she saw a pair of freckled hands on the bed rail, gripping it so hard that she was surprised the owner wasn't hurting himself. Oddly, Hermione couldn't look up then. She wasn't sure why — but she couldn't look. She turned towards the bedside instead, and there was Harry. 

He looked smudged and tired and shocked and thrilled all at the same time. His eyes were red, but it seemed to her like they were happier than she'd seen them in a long time.

And that means. . . 

Hermione sighed in relief. 

"Harry. You did it. I **knew** you would."

He didn't answer her. He just reached over and hugged her. She hugged him back happily, and felt like things were back to normal. Almost.

"I never thought I'd actually be glad to see the inside of the infirmary," she joked, and the hands on the rail squeezed impossibly harder. "There was a bit where I really thought that was it — that I was a goner. I don't even know **how** I got lucky enough to miss that last — " 

Harry's face went white. 

Something not quite cold and not quite fear ran down her spine and she instinctively clutched the sheet. She tried to smooth it over and cover the moment up.

"Well, it doesn't matter much, does it? Everything came out all right in the end."

Harry was still paler than she'd seen him since the third task, but he grinned a bit and said,

"Must be one of those weird 'Hermione's been knocked on her skull too many times' feelings."

She laughed, but she knew he was lying. She remembered enough to know that.

It was that close, wasn't it, Harry?  

And then **stupid** Ron made that **stupid** comment about how he hadn't done his **stupid** Potions homework. 

At that point she could look. She had a reason that wouldn't . . . well, she didn't want to think about what would happen if she wasn't incredibly irritated with him and they had to look at each other.

 It would serve him right if he failed Potions, that git — though she knew she'd give in by tonight and help him anyway.

As she kicked them out, the two boys grinning at each other, dirty and exhausted, Hermione wanted to call them back and ask them to stay with her, because she really didn't want to be left alone. But the Prefect in her reminded her that it was important, particularly for Ron, that they make it to class. 

She tucked her knees up to her chin and tried to remember more. Slowly it came back, piece by piece, Harry's stunned look — when he knew and she knew he knew and they both understood — like the expression he'd had first year, not for her, when — and she stopped that train of thought, because it only reminded her how ghost-white Ron's face had been against the field. And then — she winced involuntarily and she had to close her eyes to keep back the tears. It had hurt so much. 

For once in her know-it-all life, Hermione didn't want to remember anything. She thought about sneaking out to find a book or something to read, but she reckoned that Madame Pomfrey would be only too happy to assign her detentions out of sheer worry, not to mention disobedience. 

She sighed and leaned back on her pillow. She honestly wished that there were something that she could do — something that would let her not think about last night at all.

Does Harry feel like this? Is this what he feels like all the time? 

There was a scuffle at the infirmary entrance. She put her knees down, and opened her eyes, hoping that she wouldn't cry in front of anyone. Hermione glanced up. It was Ron. She only saw him for a second, though, because in the next one he was on her bed, nearly on top of _her_, his arms so tight around her ribs that breathing was a little dodgy at first. It took her a moment to realize that he was crying so hard his entire body was shaking, and that she could actually feel the tears on her neck.

Oh no, is he all right? Is he hurt too? 

 She hugged him back, and gently began to pat him on the back and run her hands down his neck, the way one would comfort a very small and very scared child. After a minute of just holding him like that, she tried to talk to him.

"Shhh, it's all right, isn't it?" He didn't stop sobbing and he didn't seem able to answer her. Hermione tried again. "What's gotten into you, then? You're all right, really. You don't have to do this — I was going to help you with Potions anyway. Do you have another concussion?  That was a nasty gash."

There was another noise at the door and she looked up. Harry was staring at the two of them, round-eyed. Hermione had the funniest feeling in the pit of her stomach. She suddenly felt that it was incredibly important that Ron not know that Harry was seeing him at that moment.

 "He's gone mad," she mouthed. Harry gave her a look that told her he was hardly an idiot. She couldn't help but grin at him. "Go, before Pomfrey catches you and we're all in trouble." He got the message, because he pointed at Ron questioningly. She smiled even wider then, and she rolled her eyes. "They let the ones with brain damage stay."

Take that, Mr. Weasley. You and your Potions homework indeed.

Harry choked. She could see he was about to laugh, and very loudly at that. In a last-ditch effort to make her best friend keep a straight face, Hermione slipped one hand carefully off of Ron's back and pressed her finger to her lips.

Harry put his hands up and backed away, sneaking slowly out.

And then Ron pulled away, tears still streaking down his face. He looked more devastated than she'd realized a person could look, worse than she'd ever seen Harry, and he was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before —

_Or like he thought he'd never see you again._

"You're alive," he said, and his voice broke a little.

There wasn't anything for her to say.

"I know." That was all there was, really. "So are you." She looked back at him, still alive, and very gently, she touched the gash on his head. Suddenly Hermione couldn't move — it was as if something in her had sprung open or clicked into place like a lens, and for the first time ever she could see how very real he was and how very fragile being that real was. She didn't even want to breathe in case it would break and she'd lose it.

Then Ron's fist came down so violently on the bed that she jumped, the moment gone. His entire demeanor changed and he looked like she'd seen him countless times before—utterly furious with her.

**_"What_** the bloody hell did you _think_ you were doing? Could have been _killed _— nearly **_were_** killed — scared Harry and me out of our _minds_! Are you completely daft?" 

Hermione remembered what she'd said to Harry the night before, and a slightly wicked urge came over her.

Might as well enjoy the moment, eh, girl? 

Innocently she looked back at him "I was just, you know, applying something somebody taught me." Wow. Ron managed to look even angrier. 

"What? Somebody _taught_ you — were you reading old notes from _Lockhart's_ class or something?"

"Queen takes rook over knight? That sound like Lockhart to you, Ron?" She gave him her best impertinent glance for a second as he registered what she'd said, and more importantly, what she was referring to. 

A slow smile spread over his face. "You really are an utter know-it-all. _Always_ trying to get the last word in." 

That was it — suddenly it was all too much — everything was all right, and they were all alive, all of them and she was going to wake up tomorrow and her friends would still be there and she'd never let either of them hurt that much if there was anything she could ever do to stop it.

And Hermione finally burst into tears. 

Ron put his arms around her and started stroking her hair, so gently that she thought he might have been made just for the purpose of doing that. She swallowed hard and raised her head for a second to get even more comfortable, but then something happened that for Hermione Granger was extraordinarily odd. Not only did it feel disturbingly like something from Divination, but it also was the second time in twenty-four hours that she'd felt any sort of connection to that asinine subject. As she shifted, she could swear that she saw a woman in front of her and that the woman had smiled at her and mouthed something, though when she looked again the woman was gone. 

Ever the investigator, she moved her lips the same way the figure had, trying to distinguish the words, first slowly and then more quickly as she picked up one word and then the others.

Ohhh . . .

The woman's face flashed back into her mind.

"Now you understand."

Hermione smiled and wiped at her eyes. 

Harry. I should tell Harry that. 

She let Ron hold her and stayed there, safe and quiet, until she got the better of herself and couldn't help but say quietly, "Ron?"

Hermione felt him tilt his head down to look at her. "Mmm?"

"Don't we have an exam this morning?"

Ron groaned.

*          *          *          *

*          *          *          *          *          *

**_We do not see things as they are_******

**_but as we are._******

**_~Jewish Proverb_**

*          *          *          *

T. E.

*          *          *          *

The Now-Obligatory Appendix 

*          *          *          *

****

I.          "**_Other things may change us, but we start and end with family."_**

**_                  ~Anthony Brandt_**

II.         **_"_****_De corde totaliter_**

**_Et ex mente tota,_**

Sum presentialiter 

**_Absens in remota."_**

**_~Anonymous; _**

**_Carmina Burana_****_, "Omnia Sol Temperat"_**

(Tr: "With all my heart and all my soul I am with you, though I am far away.")

III.  **_"I think there is choice possible to us at any moment, as long as we live. _**

**_But there is no sacrifice. _**

**_        There is a choice, and the rest falls away."_****_   
                      _****_~Muriel Rukeyser_**

IV. **_"In the night of death, hope sees a star, _**

**_and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing."_**

**_           ~Robert Ingersoll_**__

V. **_If evil is inevitable, how are the wicked accountable? _**

**_Nay, why do we call men wicked at all? _**

**_Evil _****_is inevitable, but it is also remediable. _**

**_~ Horace Mann_********__**

VI_.__ **"And when man faces destiny, destiny ends and man comes into his own."**_**_   
              _****_-André Malraux, The Voices of Silence_****__**

VII. **_"If death is one mystery, life is another, greater one . . ."_**

**_            ~Jonathan Schell_**

A/N: Well, that's it. I just got on a roll there. A sappy roll, admittedly, but a roll nonetheless. *grin* And I love the Latin poem (actually it's now best known as lyrics, but I like it just read because it sounds like chimes). 

I am all for Weasley siblings. I love Weasleys. I really do. 

And to Elanor Gamgee: Thank you again — 

**_"Any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about doing it right, or doing it better."_****_   
                                    _****_~John Updike_******

**__**

(ps—there's also a little shout-out somewhere for an artistically-minded someone at SQ—certainly a huge deviation in many respects from the original, but it's there. I'm still honoured and flattered that someone drew one of my stories a picture.) 


End file.
